The Winter Rose
by A L P H A - H U N T R E S S
Summary: Duty weighs heavily upon Lyanna Stark when she is betrothed to Robert Baratheon, it is a fate that she has no hope of fighting against until she meets her silver champion, Rhaegar Targaryen. In a sudden moment of scandal Lyanna realizes his feelings and that her fate may not be so far out of her reach if she has the courage to embrace the difficult path baring their true love.
1. Betrothal

Lyanna felt a mixture of anxious rage curl through her gut and around her heart, in an instant she had been ensnared and it felt like she'd never breathe freely again. _I am Lyanna Stark of Winterfell_, soon to be Lyanna Baratheon if she married the southern lord as her Father decreed. Robert Baratheon was the second son of three, fostered alongside her brother. Ned assured her again and again that it was a good match in every way that mattered. That was something she didn't attempt to dispute, her Father and brothers were all pleased and only she was not.

The Baratheons were a Great House; their lineage was 'worthy' of her own Stark bloodline. Robert Baratheon was a warrior; he'd be able to protect her. He was wealthy enough to provide for her happiness IF her happiness could be bought. _It CANNOT, _she thought willfully, _my happiness will be determined by the depth of one's heart not by the depth of one's pockets!_ Robert Baratheon would not be unkind to her, he'd treat her well as a person but he would NOT love her! Lyanna had been assured he wasn't unkind and of what seen of him personally made her believed that. He didn't appear like he was quick to anger and when he was she was sure he'd never resort to violence against a lady. It was this reason, the ONLY reason why she wasn't opening protesting the match, fighting it tooth and nail.

She was a Stark, the wolf was in her blood, but she was a lady as well and there was no reason for such a spectacle. It would accomplish nothing and no one would understand her protestations unless they were the ones expected to wed HIM. She might not have been so displeased or so despairing if it wasn't the fact he was so free in his affections with every woman beneath the sun and moon. Men always promised their wives such things, that they'd put aside the habits they'd cultivated while growing up but Lyanna was anything but a fool, she didn't believe it.

From afar her gray eyes watched at the formalities of the betrothal and marriage were settled by contract. Lyanna had always known this day would come, what would be expected of her. In retrospect she knew there were worse prospects, worse lords than Robert. She would never be the Lady of Storm's End, that title would belong to Selyse Florent, the betrothed of Lord Stannis, the eldest Baratheon. She would become the wife of Robert, who would be a banner man to his brother, a high born banner man, but all the same merely a banner man. There was no greatness to that task, nothing to one day aspire to unless if, by some manner of luck, she'd produce a child of the union. It was a thankless prospect to leave Winterfell where she was a THE Lady to go be the wife of second born son somewhere to the South. If she managed to bear a son he'd only inherit if Stannis failed to produce his own sons and even then her child would wait behind Robert and Renly before getting his turn.

Lyanna didn't consider herself wholly vain; power and influence were not all that mattered to her. Deep down she merely wanted to count, to be someone to both her spouse and the world. How could this be the BEST she could do? Robert would not swear off other women, she would not be his one and only all the days of his life. And if her father was marrying her for the sake of influence and inheritance then surely there were other high Lords or their heirs that were unpromised and unwed. When it came to inheritance the first born were the ones that mattered!

A young man situated himself next to her, her gray eyes traveling away from Robert Baratheon to focus on the outline of her brother Eddard, "Robert is a good man, he's like a brother, he'll make you happy."

"You sound so sure of that but you don't know what makes me happy. I love you, Ned but you've been away for years and years, fostered in the Vale and I've been here. You don't know what will make me happy, he doesn't know what will make me happy. I've already heard he has a bastard daughter in the Vale. Is it true?"

Ned flinched at her coarse choice of words or maybe it was because there was no graceful way to deny his friend's sins. It likely wasn't easy to be in Ned's place, he was quiet, honest, and honorable and she was his blood but he was also loyal and Robert had come to Winterfell his brother in everything but blood. Ned went for the middle road, telling her the truth but trying to soothe her as well, "I don't know where you heard that but he does," Ned placed his hands on her shoulders to turn her to face him, "but I assure you again that Robert is a good man, what he has done before this is insignificant. Already he has changed for the better, he will be good and true to you."

Lyanna looked back at the outline of her Father and Robert thinking, _No he won't..._, then she glanced to her brother, "You're wrong, that man will never keep to one bed."

Then she heard it, "Lyanna," her name, he was calling her name. Already she had committed herself to not making a spectacle but that didn't mean she couldn't be entitled to fighting and railing against it privately. She wasn't sure what Ned would do but she knew he'd not hurt Robert by saying she departed on purpose when called. She pulled herself out of her brother's embrace and silently trailed off towards the gardens in the cold winter night, as if sensing her desire to escape the howling of wolves could be heard in the distance drowning out her departing footsteps and Robert's voice.

Anew she was hit with how much he loved Winterfell and how much she'd miss it, time and again she'd been told that the North was wasted upon her, that she belonged somewhere warmer and more vibrant. How very wrong they were, it was more than just her home, it was a part of her and you couldn't have one without the other - she belonged to the North and the North belonged to her.


	2. The Tournament of Harrenhal

"Relax. I've got it," Rhaegar chuckled charismatically as his squire attempted to assist him and promptly kept getting in his way. No doubt the younger youth was excited to be at the tournament or overwhelmed by everything that was going on around them it was making him more prone than usual to rushed and sudden movements. In time he knew he'd have to school his squire in when to step in and assist and when to stand back and watch. With practiced ease he pulled the armor on tight but not too tightly, he had to be able to move after all. Rhaegar had a good build for jousting, he was strong and sturdy enough not to be easily unseated but agile enough to dart and dodge when it necessary. The folds of the tent parted for him as he stepped out into the sunlight.

His horse was tethered to the hitching post nearby, his squire stood there vigilant as thought ready to ward off any last minute attempts to 'fix' the tourney's results through sabotage. A quick last minute check of its saddle, bridle, and gear revealed no trace of negligence in its saddling that morning. Rhaegar pressed his silver head against the black of its hide, "We're ready for this, we're going to take it all," _we are going to win_, he thought as he mounted. The red and black of House Targaryen was draped over the horse's head and sides shielding most of the velvet ebony hide from view. As he settled into his seat and rode into place his squire came behind with his spear and shield. With a sure and steady hand on the reins he took the shield upon his arm and the lance in his free hand. As he brought his gaze up it didn't travel down the joust field but rather to the stands. It took his vibrant violet gaze a few moments to pick HER out.

SHE was adorned in a lovely gown of crystalline silk, its ethereal hue a perfect fusion between the wintry paleness of frost and a clear blue sky seen only in early spring. The symbolism wasn't lost upon him, she was like a perfect flower emerging early in spring after a long, hard winter. A matching cloak of navy blue velvet rested lightly upon her shoulders fixed in place by two sapphire pins the size of fists. A simple yet tasteful necklace of sapphires and diamonds rested at the base of her long, pale neck. A silver coronet fixed with sapphires rested upon her brow, and from that, a web of silver and pearls branched out over her dark hair like snowfall. SHE was a vision of loveliness unmatched by anything or anyone in the Seven Kingdoms or any kingdom - _Lyanna..._

It took every fiber of self-restraint he had to keep from uttering her name aloud, so badly wanted to feel the syllables teasing the tip of his tongue as they reached for his lips. For as long as he could remember he had wanted her. That was the unfortunate fate of being born into the Targaryen bloodline, as soon as you were able to understand the concept of marriage and family you were told that you'd be wedding your sister. Over the years with no sister coming Rhaegar and his family had realized they needed to continue the bloodline, Rhaegar had in that moment realized his luck. Immediately he had thrown in Lyanna Stark's name into the negotiations. His parents had no particular preference when it came to an outsider's blood other than it be a noble from one of the Great Houses. The Starks of Winterfell had met that but when the suit had come to Lord Rickard Stark it stalled to a sudden halt. Lyanna, his Lyanna, was much too young to consider for marriage. With that his parents had gone for Elia Martell of Dorne. For duty, they'd both gone to the altar but to this day he held a flame for Lyanna that would never go out.

Even the news of her betrothal to Lord Robert Baratheon couldn't cool the ardor burning through his blood. It was with a possessive sort of jealousy that he watched young Robert Baratheon ride over to the far side of the field to approach his lady. Lyanna was sitting still, her hands folded gracefully in her lap, her gaze just barely lifted upward but he got the impression that she was here for the sake of duty alone. If memory served well none of the Starks commonly frequented jousts and tournaments and Lyanna's presence was even more infrequent. As Robert approached, her elder brother Brandon whispered in her ear, whatever he had said seemed to rouse a reaction out of her and she rose as her betrothed closed the distance between them. There was a moment of exchanged conversation between them then nothing. Lyanna recovered, bent down and tore a length of fabric from the hem of her gown then gave the scrap of fabric to Robert. He took it, looking merry as he placed it between the gaps in his plate mail. And why should he not?

He was a young lord with nothing to his name BUT his name and yet enviably he possessed the greatest treasure in the Seven Kingdoms. Bitterly Rheagar knew that Robert wouldn't realize his good fortune, he wouldn't be satisfied to have Lyanna alone and from the wise light lingering in her haunted gaze, she realized it too. She deserved a better man than a foolish boy fresh from his fostering. Nothing would save her from that now, her Father had seen to that when the betrothal had been finalized and publicized. With disgust and disappointment he gave a sharp pull on the reigns forcing his stallion into a different direction to tear his gaze from the lovely Lyanna.

Thinking about her wouldn't prepare him to make a good showing during the tournament; he needed to be calm, focused, and purposeful. However he tried to pull against it his mind drifted back to her as if her very presence was magnetic. His steed picked up on his fervor and hoofed nervously at the ground. That was the mark of a good steed that it could understand and stand on the same wavelength as its rider but in this case that was problematic. Unless he could somehow turn his weakness to strength, perhaps fighting could be the outlet to purge himself of Lyanna, to let go of the dreams that died years before.

Rhaegar smiled to himself and turned, feeling sure and confident in himself once more and was shocked to see his rival for Lyanna, Robert Baratheon on the other end of the field. This was his chance, for what he wasn't sure. To make a fool out of Robert in front of Lyanna? Undoubtedly. To impress her? Perhaps. Either way he wasn't going to lose to a boy. Robert was well built for his age but he wasn't a grown adult. Rhaegar was surprised that Lord Arryn of the Vale had allowed his wards to take part in the joust. Clearly Lord Arryn wasn't the type to deny the boys their sport though judging from young Eddard Stark's presence in the stands he was not going to take part in the festivities.

Rheagar eyed his opponent warily, thought he lacked experience and was young. Robert was meeting him on pretty equal footing when it came down to the physical aspects of jousting. He would be difficult to unhorse, in fact if he wasn't careful he could unhorse himself in the attempt. He lowered his lance and saw Robert do the same, they both advanced into a charge at the same pace. The distance between them shrank in what seemed like the blink of an eye. Robert's blow glanced off his shield but his spear struck true and shattered the wood upon Robert's arms. They both retreated unsatisfied with the results and turned around for another go at each other. Breaking his spear was as risky as the prospect of unhorsing him, if luck favored young Baratheon it could end up being his spear that breaks and him who takes the fall.

As they rushed at each other his eyes were drawn to the pale blue silk of Lyanna's hem, he aimed for it shoving his lance at it like a target. His spear pierced the silk, the wood ripping it free of the plate mail and as he went alongside Robert Baratheon, he realized that Lady Lyanna's token had given him the insight needed for his victory over her betrothed. He needed to push against Robert and at the same time use his weight as an anchor to stay astride his own horse. The youth fell and he galloped for a victory lap around the field before heading off to his own tent to recuperate. His squire took his lance, "Let me see that," he said as he dismounted and carefully removed the luminous silk from the spear's end. He smiled at it, vowing to be more careful with it than Lord Robert was, "Thank you, Lady Lyanna," he placed it in his tunic beneath his mail and armor.

* * *

At the end of first day of fighting, Lyanna rose with all the other ladies and was escorted by her brothers from the stands. Lyanna departed all fluid grace; she was passively and gentle until the sounds of a brawl could be heard breaking out. The fight was loud enough to draw the attention of several others including Lyanna. Her eyes narrowing on the fight scene as she whipped around and after a moment they widened in recognition. For a moment Rhaegar wondered if it was a Stark man that had started the fight and that perhaps she felt honor bound to break it up as the true born daughter of the man's liege lord.

It was hardly a fair fight but it wasn't one of overwhelming odds, a small yet grown man against three youths each of them larger than their sole target. The man possessed a single three-pronged lance with which to protect himself, evening the odds in his favor until the three youths took that too. It wasn't all that uncommon for fights to break out at a tournament; but they were usually broken up before any serious bloodshed could occur. Clearly Lady Lyanna was unlike the other insipid women of court, she wasn't willing to turn her gaze away and wait for others to sort it out. With a snarl of protective fury, she shouted, "He's OURS! LEAVE HIM BE!"

With more speed than Rhaegar gave her credit for in her gown Lyanna charged, evading Eddard's best attempts to hold her back and taking the tourney sword of her brother Brandon as he lunged to intercept her. Lyanna's speed bested both of her elder brothers and she mercilessly jumped into the fray, interjecting herself between the three squires and her fallen banner man. The squires were quick to break off the fight though Rhaegar wasn't sure if it was because of Lyanna's furious fighting style or because they feared to strike a lady and one from a Great House no less! As the squires retreated Lyanna's eyes blazed in disgust and it was obvious to Rhaegar that she desired more justice than she'd been able to dispense. Brandon Stark went up to her and wrested the sword from her as soon as he was sure it was safe for him and tersely began chastising her temper and recklessness. Lyanna fought, spitting fire as she replied in terse undertones that could still be overheard, "He is ours, he protects us and we protect him in turn. WE PROTECT OUR OWN, BRANDON STARK!"

When it became clear that fighting with Lyanna would only make a bigger scene, Brandon Stark trailed off allowing the endearing lady to return. Lyanna offered her hand to the fallen man, giving him an encouraging smile. He took it and Rhaegar got a good look at him finally. Bloodied and beaten from being hit and kicked Rhaegar recognized the man as Howland Reed, a fully grown man of small stature and a banner man to the Starks of Winterfell. Lyanna laced her arm with that of the fallen knight, showing him ever courtesy and kindness as she escorted him back to her own tent. There he saw a tender, caring side of her reemerge as she dressed his wounds but nothing she did could soothe the knight's loss of pride. He was expected to defend House Stark and was defended instead by the young Stark girl. That evening before the feasting festivities were to take place Rhaegar watched as Lyanna washed her hands of blood, sweat, and grime as Reed departed her tent. Her gaze held the burning fury of ice and Rhaegar was positive that in accordance to the Old Ways Lady Lyanna would have her justice.

* * *

The next morning Rhaegar rode out and instantly his eyes went to the seats reserved for the Starks of Winterfell but to his surprise Lyanna was missing. Her three brothers were seated together, looking worried as they spoke in hushed tones. Rhaegar summoned his squire with a gesture, "Where is the Lady Lyanna?"

"Ill, your grace, though it is more likely fatigue. The tournament was a rather busy affair for Lady Lyanna yesterday," _it was indeed!_ Rhaegar thought to himself, Lyanna's actions on behalf of her banner man had traveled through the camps like wildfire, earning the respect and admiration of the small folk and the sneers and disdain of the nobility. Ironically her intervention had spared the knight a few bruises but had done his pride no favor. Howland Reed had looked particularly forlorn at the feast, as though stripped of any trace of honor.

"Go inquire after Lady Stark's health, do not mention me when you do so," it wouldn't do to have him traced to the question when it was none of his business what was going on with Lady Stark in her personal life.

At that moment he rode off the field as the first challenger's took their places. Rhaegar was shocked to see a new standard take to the field. There should be no newcomers, not this late into the tournament, you only got to the second day of fighting if you managed to survive all challenges upon the first day. At the other end of the fray he saw three knights that had been singled out and lined up and beside them were the youth, the squires that had done the bullying the previous day. This wasn't part of the tournament he realized, it was a challenge of honor and likely demanded by Lady Stark but Rhaegar didn't recognize the knight chosen to represent the Starks. It could've been any of their banner men but the sigil of a smiling tree didn't belong to any banner man of the North or any of the Seven Kingdoms that Rhaegar could recall and it wasn't one of the Starks, they were all accounted for. Or not . . .

Rhaegar looked at the knight, this time his eyes were peeled for clues to the challenger's identity.

_Surely not. _Rhaegar thought with dismay, a woman had no place on the jousting field but he stayed his hand. There was no proof that this knight was a lady or that that lady was Lyanna and he was loath to interrupt the challenge on the off chance it wasn't her. Besides, all three of her brothers were present, the two elder and the younger, and Rhaegar KNEW they would not stand by and allow their sister to joust under their careful watch. For one it was dangerous and also undignified for a lady of her high station.

As far as Rhaegar could tell the challenger was an excellent rider, his gear was well maintained but hardly top of the line, the same of which could have been said for how he wielded his arms. However, there was no mistaking that the most mysterious and eye-catching part of the knight was its sigil – a white and red tree, a weirwood, with a mocking smile painted upon its face. There was no doubt that the weirwood was a reference to the Starks, one of the few that continued to follow the Old Ways when everyone to the South followed the New Ways in their worship of the Seven. Whatever the knight's name, the common folk and nobility alike quickly bestowed a title upon the stranger, derived from the sigil, the Knight of the Laughing Tree.

Rhaegar dismounted from his horse, sitting down in the sidelines where it was inevitable that he should hear the twittering chatter of the nobility, "I heard that Lady Lyanna lent the Knight of the Laughing Tree her personal mount for this challenge," Rhaegar could understand the bafflement of the noble ladies, it was generally unheard of for a lady to sacrifice or lend anything to a lesser, let alone to allow a lesser individual to use her own personal property to avenge the honor of her vassal.

The mystery Knight leveled his lance and charged. Rhaegar knew that the knights took a chance in accepting the Stark's challenge. Any loss whether it was an official match or not would mean all three Knights would be cast out of the tournament. However there was no way the knights would not have accepted the challenge, they would have been dishonored if they had. It was a powerful motive that insured cooperation and the kind of plot that would only come of a determined member of one of the Great House. Rhaegar was willing to bet if the Knight took off his helm he would find that the 'he' was a 'HER' and that she was Lyanna Stark.

After it was all said and done, Rhaegar was positive that the Knight of the Laughing Tree was a female if not Lyanna herself. The knight's voice was deepened by the helm but it was alto which was a high pitch for any male. The figure was short of stature and slighter in build than most of the men in the tournament. The fighting style was better than that of a common man but hardly that of an actual Knight's skill level. It was as if the figure had seen the moves a hundred times but had rarely or never applied it. In contrast the horsemanship was excellent and it was truly what carried the Knight of the Laughing Tree to the three victories. In a joust it was the speed of a horse and its movement that carried the force of the attack not the rider's physical strength. Physical strength helped but horsemanship was an essential element. The Knight of the Laughing Tree was a mediocre fighter but an expert rider.

IF the knight was Lady Lyanna she would have been able to have the benefit of watching a 'master at arms' drill his potentials but not the chance to learn or use such knowledge, a lady would not have been taught such things but as the lady of a Great House, she absolutely would have been taught the 'ins' and 'outs' of riding. In fact, Lyanna Stark was well known for being a good rider, Rhaegar recalled as much, he'd once heard that she was so in tune with her mount that she was practically half a horse herself.

Rhaegar saw his squire return to the field and summoned him over to join him with a gesture, "Lady Lyanna?"

"Gone, my lord, her ladies informed me she was feeling well enough to join her siblings in the audience," Rhaegar's eyes went over to where the Starks sat and sure enough Lyanna was missing. She might be young but to play her family, household, and the courts alike in a grand display such as this made him make a mental note not to underestimate the likes of Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.

"Your Father, his majesty King Aerys the Second of his Name, has announced he would like to see you immediately, your highness."

That surprised Rhaegar, for some time he'd been estranged from his Lord Father enough that Rhaegar wanted him gone and would plot to overthrow him. Nothing gruesome or final like murder though his Father might certainly deserve it, Rhaegar was more inclined to the idea of exile if he ever managed to move against King Aerys II. It had been the intention to use this tournament as a staging ground for support, which was why Aerys was here not that Rhaegar gave his Father any evidence or proof of wrongdoing with which he could convict him. It was not for any sort of personal gain that he sough to overreach and seize the throne, with his father growing madder by the day it was for the greater good of the common people that he desired the Iron Throne. They deserved a king that was kind and strong instead of paranoid and ruthless, "I will do so promptly. Keep my horse at the ready, this will be a short discussion."

King Aerys II was alone in the stands, without a doubt it gave him the best view of all and it was hardly a private place but after the morning challenge was concluded the people in the surrounding stands were providing a buzzing backdrop of noise to drown out their conversation, "You called for me, your Majesty."

"There is no trace of that Knight which battled in the challenges this morning."

Rhaegar was confused as to why his father even cared about the Knight, it wasn't like he'd emerged and tried to assassinate him. King Aerys II rarely took interest in anything unless it was a threat or offensive to him personally. The Knight had come forth to defend the honor of another man and then disappeared after a lesson in humility had been dispensed, "I don't..."

"That knight fell three others in combat, winning all their gear and possessions including their steeds. That knight promised to ransom back their possessions provided the Knights teach their squires a lesson in control but then vanished from view. All three have complained that their competitor is nowhere to be found."

"The Knight won his," _her_, he thought, "spoils fair and square. Even if he vowed such a thing there is no obligation to follow through on it."

"I will not suffer thieves! You will find this Knight, expose him, and see that he follows through on what he swore to do!"

Rhaegar realized that there was no point in arguing with his Lord Father; he wasn't sure what the motive was for enforcing the deal. Perhaps the knights or the Houses they served were powerful enough together that he felt obligated to smooth things over or maybe it was just because he wanted to know just what this unknown player was capable of. Either way, he was tasked with finding this Knight of the Laughing Tree and if that led him to a confrontation with Lyanna, he'd gladly accept this task, "Yes, Father. It will be looked into."

* * *

However soon the task of finding the Knight of the Laughing Tree was thrust out of his mind completely because the joust required all his attention. Prince Rhaegar was forced to be just as calculating as he'd been the first day, more so because the opponents he faced afterwards were seasoned, some eclipsed him entirely in experience but in those fights his youthful physique carried the day. Brandon Stark of Winterfell became his third opponent. Brandon Stark, unlike his brothers, was made for combat and very good at it. By the third turn however he shattered Stark's spear and used the flat of his own spear to push him off the back of the horse while he charged. Instead of doing a victory lap he rode to where Stark had fallen and helped him up. It earned him another gift from Lyanna. For the first time during the tournament he saw the edges of her lips tilt upward into a noticeable arch. He drank in her smile for as long as he could before retreating from the field in good spirits in spite of the fact his victory over Stark left him facing Ser Barristan Selmy.

For the first time he realized he might win this tournament, if he was victorious on the 'morrow. The victor of this tournament would be allowed to name a single woman as the Queen of Love & Beauty. It was a singular chance to court either one's spouse or any other eligible maiden. Unfortunately for him he was already married and his first choice of woman was no longer eligible.

The atmosphere taking over the field was tense and noisy but he drowned it out desiring to bring this tournament to a swift and victorious end. The crowd was riled by the victories witnessed by each side. There was heavy betting abound in the stands. As his squire approached with shield and spear he chanced a glance at Lyanna. In the commotion he had expected no one to notice it especially not Lyanna herself. She was in conversation with her brothers but noticed him and gave him a reserved smile that must've meant 'good luck'. When it came to the ladies there was no doubt he was the 'ladies choice' in this battle and they wanted to be his choice in turn. They were all silly, vain creatures radiating warmth as false as they are themselves. In comparison Lyanna carried a chill composure about herself but at least she was true to herself. That was more than he could say for himself. Perhaps he wasn't much different from those he scorned, perhaps he wasn't worthy of Lyanna and her Father had been right to reject his suit all those years ago. Or maybe there were paths open to them that just had to be taken.

He buried the stolen swath of silk from his first joust back beneath his armor, readied his lance and charged. _No overthinking this_, he thought, _I'm just going to allow my instincts to guide me._ He lowered his spear and it collided with Ser Barristan's, shattering his. In an instant his opponent is knocked off balance and while trying to recover he leans over the rail, in a fall set to collide with him directly. With a kick of his heels he rallies his horse to give a final burst of speed, charging onward towards Lyanna and leaving Barristan to fall on the ground behind him, in his dust. As the cheers erupt all around him, an easy smile comes to his face as he goes to collect his prize – the crown, the crown of the Queen, the Queen of Love & Beauty.

Lord Whent rose gently claiming the crown from the head of his daughter and reluctantly handing it over to him. The purpose of his whole tournament to had been to honor Lord Whent's daughter, the vainly titled 'Queen of Love & Beauty'. Rhaegar might've felt ashamed to steal the moniker from the Lady had she been half the Lady Lyanna was in thought and deed. _I have earned this! _

As he accepts the coronet of blue winter roses and holds it aloft for all to see, the cheers get louder and louder. His horse does a full victory lap, allowing all eyes to give it their appraisal before he angles towards his target. Everyone assumed that he would give it to his wife, Princess Elia of Dorne but an abrupt hush comes over the crowd as he charges past his wife and instead drops the crown in the lap of Lady Lyanna Stark of Winterfell.

* * *

**A/N: Outside of Rhaegar's thoughts of Lyanna, this chapter was like pulling teeth. Reviews with suggestions for improvement would be nice but I like to believe I did the best with what I could. A joust tournament isn't the most interesting thing to write about. I am hoping the next chapter from Lyanna's point of view will be better and flow easier!**

* * *

_**Red: Thank you for the encouraging review. Yes I did take some creative license and change the ages. For some reason where Stannis is such a stick in the mud and as a result I see him as the severe patronizing older sibling. I imagine him as being the eldest ALWAYS. In the greater scheme of things I don't think it makes much a difference, we all know what results of Lyanna and Rhaegar and it has nothing to do with Stannis' age and everything to do with Robert's Rebellion. I am going to be as true to the tale as I can possibly be BUT there will be times where I choose to take advantage of creative license to write the tale as I see it. **_


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